


It Was a Start

by Squaze



Series: It Was a Start [1]
Category: Amulet (Graphic Novels)
Genre: Anxiety, Emily wants to help, Family, Friendship, Ikol is troubled, Opening Up, PTSD, Trust, bad memories, implied torture/electrocution, not as bad as it sounds, platonic, supernova, supernova spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-21 01:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16149341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squaze/pseuds/Squaze
Summary: He feels... almost nothing.Almost.She takes his hand, or whatever resembles as much, in a way that only family would- and gently, Emily guides him away from the memory. He’s grateful; he doesn’t like to remember. But at least she knows, now. She knows why Ikol did what he did. She knows why he became a monster, why he experienced a power thrill, why his actions had become so gruesome—He—He was trying to gain some kind of control... amidst the chaos... amidst the pain.





	1. Chapter 1

It Was a Start

**Content Warning: very softly implied torture/electrocution. Please take any precautions to take care of yourself if you aren’t feeling it.**

_Tic-tic-tic-tic. Tic-tic-tic-tic._

_A rattle. Like a bone dragged across a metal fence. Hissing sounds; imaginary hissing sounds. Ringing sounds; imaginary ringing sounds. A pulsing head. An aching heart. Burning flesh. Burning body. Burning soul._

_Tic-tic-tic-tic._

_“ You are our inferior.”_

_“Yes, master.”_

_Tic-tic-tic-tic._

_Quivering lungs. Fear. They smell fear._

_“ We created you. You must obey us.”_

_“Yes.”_

_The rattles. They go. They tic-tictictictictictictictictictic—_

**_BZZZZRZVZBBBBBBBB38946893274------_ **

_Screaming, screaming, screaming. Pain, pain, so much pain, he’s broken, he’s shattered. He’ll do anything_

_Everything_

_Just stop the pain_

_TIC-TIC-TIC-TIC-TIC—_

_Please_

_S t o p_

_the pain_

**_“ You will not betray us. You will follow every step we tell you to. Is this understood?”_ **

_Stammering. Begging. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes—”_

_“ If there is another misstep. If you are soft. If you allow weakness. You will not survive the next episodes.”_

_“Yes. Yes. Yes.”_

_“ You will do everything in your power to kill anyone in our way. This is your duty. It is your purpose.”_

_“Yes.”_

_Tic-tic-tic-tic-tic-tic-tic_

_“... Good. I am glad we had this talk.”_

_Racing heart. It stills. Just a moment. Stagnant air. His body. Spasms. Recovery, he must recover- recover- recover- recover_

_It will be-_

_Fine_

_“ Actually... before we depart--”_

_Fear; it pulses. Pulse, tic, it tics, tic-tic-tic-tic_

_Tic-tic-tic-tic_

_It comes_

_Faster_

_Tic-tic-tictictictictictictictic—_

_No more_

_Please_

_No more_

_“ Allow me to drill this lesson into you one more time.”_

**_BZZZZRZVZBBBBBBBB38946893274—_ **

**_SCREAMS, CRIES, Ś̴̤Ć̴̨̦R̵͎̋E̵̳͐̊Ḁ̷̣̏M̵̮̌̕S̷̼͓̋, Š̵͈͎̋̐C̴̬̆͒̏̕͠Ṟ̶̤̲̦̹̾͛̆͛̆͜ͅÉ̷͇̞A̴̧̙̝̯͍̫̝̾̇͋̂̄̅̈́M̶͕͕̯͒̒̊̈́̚S̴̡̨̝̹͎̳̱͑̑͝C̶̤̞̲̉ͅR̶̭͖̈́E̵̝̺̗̜̐̏͠͝A̴͎̝̱̟͐̉͌̈́͒̕M̴̩̲͍͕̄̂̎̑̅́̏S̵̨͔̫͈̤̦̤̎̈́͂C̷̢̮̝̯͆̄͋̅̃̕͝Ŗ̶̛͎̌͑͂̌̽̚Ȇ̴̠̱͖̙̌͌̎̾̕Ȁ̷͈̬̝̞͕̘̼̒́̚M̴̨͙͙̺̹̑S̸̩̠̀̓͂̔͘̕͠--_ **

The stonekeeper, her lips quivering in horror, finds her breath. Tears stream from her eyes. They sit like dew on her lower eyelashes. Her skin is blotchy. Her hand, covering her mouth, displays little stability in it’s quivering nature. Horror, this is horror, isn’t it? Disgust? He isn’t sure. He doesn’t like to... think, truly. He doesn’t like to think. Not about this. Not about any of this. How did he let it come to this? How did he begin to trust her this much? He does not know. He is afraid. He can never admit this. But he is afraid.

Emily turns her head away from the memory playing like a broken record in the void. But it’s not her void. She knows who this belongs to, and he’s not entirely sure what she thinks of him now. Not that her opinion of him was high, to begin with.

Not that... he gave her much choice.

The child’s tremors give way, and she falls to the floor and weeps. His heart is startled. Emily acts as though this were her own void, her own memory.  She weeps, and he doesn’t understand why. Looking at the memory himself... makes him numb. Should he be crying? Should he have cried at the time? Was that the appropriate response? Why didn’t he cry? Why doesn’t he feel anything now?

The numbness... Does that make him more of a monster? For not feeling? For not feeling _anything_?

It occurs to him.

Emily is weeping _for_ him.

Whatever little strength he’d had left, whatever numb feeling lay in his mind and his soul, she took it. She took it from the memory and translated it to tears.

It is... curious. Curious, curious, curious. Is that bad? Is he a monster for not thinking anything else? He doesn’t want to think anything else. He can't. He won't. Because it will hurt. And he is afraid of the hurt.

She has the strength to look up at him from the ground. Tears. They flooded her eyes, but they no longer trailed from the dam.

“ _Ikol_ —”

God, he hates his name. _Garbage. He was garbage. Garbage, garbage, garbage-_

“Ikol, please—don’t do that...”

He is startled by the strange string of words. “I don’t... understand your request, Emily.”

“You’re—you’re disassociating.”

Is he? Is that this numbness he was feeling? The numbness that takes him away from the present, from the memory, from the momentary hurt?

“I- ... I am sorry.” Ikol murmurs, though he’s not entirely sure what he’s sorry for. For everything? For nothing? For his existence? “It is difficult.”

Emily slowly rises to her feet, hand on her chest, regulating her heartbeat. Her eyes are closed. She’s not afraid of him, and he isn’t afraid of her, otherwise, he wouldn’t have shown her this memory. She’d observed him. Over the years, no matter how gruesome, she had observed him and kept observing him. The child is... brilliant.

Again, when she has regained her composure, Emily looks up at him; there’s a deep sorrow buried under layers and layers of resentment and fright. Ikol doesn’t understand this. Is he—more a monster?  Is this directed at him?

Emily shakes her head, probably more so to clear her thoughts, but it still reassures him at the same time. “Come on. Let’s leave this memory. It doesn’t have to fester anymore.” She says, quietly, looking back at the memory briefly. And he notices—it is no longer a swollen, growing mess.  It has been shrinking during the time that Emily viewed it, and after.

He feels... almost nothing.

Almost.

She takes his hand, or whatever resembles as much, in a way that only family would- and gently, Emily guides him away from the memory. He’s grateful; he doesn’t like to remember. But at least she knows, now. She knows why he did what he did. She knows why he became a monster, why he experienced a power thrill, why his actions had become so gruesome—

He—

He was trying to gain some kind of control... amidst the chaos... amidst the pain.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Hah! He much begs to differ. He’d been _entirely_ in control.

Emily looks up at him. “I know what you’re thinking, but you don’t- you didn’t have emotional control. They broke you, they tortured you, they broke you to the point where you lost your _mind_ -”

“Emily. Please stop.” He can’t stand a reminder right now. She can feel the tremors in his hand, and she squeezes tighter.

He’d only received clarity the moment Emily tore the Elf King’s mask off of his face. He realized that he had become the very monsters that had tortured him for any mishap or failure. He babbled about fear, about how they feared her as they feared him—how she couldn’t throw this away—but it was all word vomit, respectively. He spewed whatever had been spoken to him as a slave, as a device.

He has been thinking about this ever since they arrived on Typhon. His home planet. His life.

The place of his torture.

A shudder passes through him, and he swears he hears the ticking of his master’s energy distributer as it charges- as it charges- and i-it drives the mother stone’s energy right into his flesh- it burns _it b̵͍ṳ̷͛̈ŗ̷͚̎͐n̷͉̺̕s̶̟̅̾—_

“Ikol?”

His head sharply turns to her, and with the sudden sunlight and gentle breeze, he realizes that they had already exited the void and are standing in front of the planet’s Ganoba trees. The Brothers—he had not been expecting to come out on this end.

Emily draws him back to earth. Back from disassociation, back from flashbacks. He breathes. The air is blooming with the sweet scent of the Brothers’ native blossoms. The sky wears gorgeous shades of pinks, purples, and yellows—it is evening, and the stars are beginning to appear on the colourful blanket of air and sky.

A long leaf from the Brothers’ brushes his face and tickles his nose; then it occurres to him. Nose?

“You know, your physical form is a lot more comprehensible than your void form.”

Ikol looks down, looks at his hands, his body—he is still much of a silhouette, but this time he is one of a humanoid rather than a shapeless being. This is the body he was tormented in, and the scorching hot white scars glowing on his body cannot be hidden.

Thankfully, Emily carefully chooses not to mention it.

He feels the wind pick up as the grass he stands on and the Brothers he stands before infatuate his attention. One of the Brothers opens his tired, aged eyes, and rests on Ikol.

“Ah,” the Brother murmurs. “Ikol. The last I had seen you, you were but a small child.”

Ikol feels a warm chuckle bounce from his body. And he is surprised; it’s been a while since he’s had any kind of response like that. “That was thousands of years ago, Brother.”

Emily, still holding his hand, looks curiously at the Brother who had spoken. “Have you... seen a boy named Navin around here? He was supposed to be here but when we got to the station... everything was destroyed.” Her eyes are downcast, and for a moment Ikol feels something other than numbness – anxiety. Anxiety for her brother.  

It was a start, he supposed. But what in heavens’ name had happened to the station? It couldn’t have been the stone giants, could it? The guardians of this planet? It would make no sense at all. They were here only for the planet’s safety and benefit. Not it's destruction.

“Ah, Navin. He was accompanied by a wonderful girl.” The Brother purrs.

Emily bounces back to life. “Do you know where he is?” She asks with such fervor, such excitement, that it brought warmth to the Brother’s eyes. She is rarely excited over anything, but the safety of her family is a top priority.

The Brother gives a hearty smile. “He retrieved our little brothers to plant them somewhere safe on Alledia... I believe he and the young lady were escorted back to their respective Space Station after the Shadow Storm.”

 _The Shadow Storm_.

Emily can feel Ikol physically stiffen up beside her. She looks at him. She watches him. She watches him tick. His fingers tick, the appendages on his head tick. He wiggles his fingers in a fast-paced rhythm. She recognizes these symptoms; quickly, she intervenes. “Ikol,” She presses, “what’s a shadow storm?”

And like that, his attention snaps back to reality.

To be honest, she’s never seen him like this before. He showed no signs of acting so- well, anxiety driven, on their way to Typhon. It was incredibly sudden. But maybe—

Maybe this is _him_. The _real_ him, the damaged him.

He had told her, upon landing on Typhon, after his long silence during a four-hour space travel, that he needed to show her—he needed to show her. She had asked, show her what? And that was the first time she had seen him truly break down, break down and say, please. Please.

Come to think of it, she saw glimpses before his breakdown. When she left the void, left the Pheonix, she heard him:

“ _Emily, please come back. Come back.”_

That had been the first time he’d ever begged her. He was—losing, gaining, consciousness. The consciousness of his actions. The consciousness of his thoughts. At that moment. And she was glad that it was that moment, where he would have told her anything, she had asked for his name.

Ikol is damaged. Physically, emotionally, mentally—she damn well hopes it isn’t beyond repair.

She realizes, with that last thought, that she has adopted him as part of her mixed up, disorderly family of robots, anthropomorphic animals, elves who hate fish, old men alongside her nuclear family.

And like family, he snarks at her.

“Were you listening to a word I just said?”

Emily blinks and looks up at him. “Huh?”

It’s almost as if that memory is behind them.

Ikol—she can’t believe it, _such sass_ —he _actually_ rolls his eyes at her. “This child...” He grunts to the Brother. She would usually take offense if it wasn’t so refreshing to see him anything but nervous.

The Brother chuckles, clearing his throat. “You can find the station left of Alledia from here. It is just before the halfway mark between the two planets, lower than Alledia.”

... She doesn’t really understand, but she acknowledges that Ikol is very much familiar with oral instructions from this planet. The culture here allows for mutual understanding. It is, of course, fascinating, but she has no time for this. She must get to her family, ensure their safety, then help Ikol solve the superiority complex of Typhon’s inhabitants.

... She had a feeling that this was, perhaps, easier said than done. Probably far more difficult than dealing with Ikol as the Elf King.

Ikol shifts beside her. She can almost hear his thoughts: _tic tic tic tic tic tic tic— the charging of his master’s energy distributor._

He must be thinking what she is thinking.

Emily clears her throat, her eyes determined. “Well,” she says, “It looks like we should head over.” She looks at Ikol, who is incredulous.

“ _’We’?_ ” He asks, breathless.

She cocks an eyebrow. “They don’t know about you, Ikol. You would be safe. Plus...” Emily looks him up and down, from his fingers following the _tic_ in his head, and the same symptoms in the appendages on his head. “You... need help.” The anxiety and paranoia from being on this _very planet_  are self-destructive. And she knows all about that.

Ikol takes offense to that. Oh boy. “Come again?” He snaps. “Do not treat me as a toddler. I am very much capable of dealing with my own issues.”

Instead of firing up like she expected to, Emily is... surprisingly somber and quiet. “Everyone will need help by the end of this, Ikol.” She murmurs. “There’s no shame in relying on others in recovery.”

His flare in temper softens very suddenly—she knows it is associated with guilt. The guilt of even being involved with the warfare and suffering of thousands of people.

He leans back his head, eyes searching the sky and the clouds, but never quite finding what they are looking for.

Emily doesn’t know what is running through his mind, but, like family, she takes his hand again.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she repeats softly.

He snorts in disbelief but says nothing. It is... a start.

The Brother watches in a considerate silence, before addressing Ikol. “You will find your path again. But not without heartache, and not without family.” Ikol keeps his head low, staring at the ground. He does not meet anyone’s gaze.

Emily... decides it’s time to go. “Thank you, Brother.” She says, bowing appreciatively. “We will be on our way. We promise to do everything we can to help this planet.”

The Brother smiles once more. “Yes. I foresee you doing great things, and for that I am thankful.”

Emily feels a smile grace her face, and, still holding Ikol’s hand, she pulls him towards the cliff. “Flying will be much faster,” She informs him. “Are you capable of such?”

He examines her and lowers his head. “Not without your permission.”

It takes a minute for Emily to understand. Then it occurs to her that he is talking about using her power to elevate himself—something that she had been very angry at him for attempting to do before. He is unable to do anything without her permission, but at least he is no longer manipulative about it.

“Of course,” she nods to confirm. “We have to set our differences aside if we are to accomplish anything. So I will start... by trusting you as you trusted me.”

She sees a faint smile on Ikol’s face before they both turn to the sky.

It was a start.

//A.N.: Hi! So I was very curious about the development of the Voice and what could have driven him into madness as I read the Amulet series, and I’m pretty happy with Supernova! I think it gives us more insight into who Ikol really is as a person, which I think we’ll see more of in the last book. I hope this was enjoyable, and, just to be clear, it was COMPLETELY FAMILIAL AND PLATONIC. If that wasn’t obvious. I may do short stories following this story depending on how well it’s received. I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a comment to tell me if I made any typos or if you liked it!


	2. Readjustment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are certain elements of coping that Ikol begins to identify. As well as interacting briefly with the Hayes family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: This story is not going to be super long. There may be a few more chapters, but that’s it. Please leave a comment! I love reading them.

Chapter 2: Readjustment

Navin examined him, leaning against the rail of the platform overlooking the construction room; his arm was slung over the metal bars. The boy looked him up and down suspiciously.

“You don’t look like a shadow to me,” Navin said finally, unconsciously scratching his cheek. Ikol barely heard him over the sound of banging and electric saws, which sent a shiver up his spine. When the remark registered in his mind, Ikol blinked, unsure what to say.

He thought carefully on how to put this.

“There are... different appearances of shadows,” Ikol began hesitantly. “Some more common appearances are the ones you are used to seeing: floating, pink or purple, with yellow cat eyes... Am I correct?” Navin tilted his head one way, not unlike a puppy. There was a mild curiosity in his eyes, and admittedly, Ikol was only slightly appreciative with the child’s eagerness to learn.

“So... like humans?”

Ikol was slightly surprised by this response; but as he considered it, he understood where Navin’s conclusion was coming from. He gave a small nod, flinching lightly at the roaring echo of an electric saw around the room. Navin looked on, unfazed, but intrigued at Ikol’s reaction. Self-consciously, he felt himself shrink under the boy’s gaze.

“Yes,” Ikol explained quietly, not without careful glances in his near surroundings. “Humans can be... short, tall, and their features can range drastically, through how big their ears may be to the colour of their skin. Shadows are not identical creatures... although their abilities change depending on their appearance, among other things.”

Navin was nodding along, though Ikol suspected the boy had lost interest, as his eyes were slightly glazed over and his cheek was leaning into his fist, elbow still resting on the rail. “Mh-hm...” he murmured, staring down from the metal platform into the array of large robots and workers.

The air was stale and smelled of molten metal – something that the shadow curled his nose at, but understood as well. These creatures were not able to breathe in space without oxygen, and were only able to recycle the same air given their resources; he couldn’t blame them in their attempts to keep themselves _alive_. Self-preservation was one of a human’s _stronger_ features, after all.

Emily had left him under the watch of her younger brother, much to Ikol’s chagrin (and to Navin’s as well, he suspected, eyeing the boy’s sleepy gaze) while she went to communicate with the commander of the station and reassure her mother. It was... something, to watch Navin and Emily’s reunion. There were tears and embraces that Ikol thought might crush their spines, and kisses on hair, cheeks, foreheads, along with muffled words and sobs. He’d watched, and... numb. He numbed away.

He had felt like he was floating. He’d lost mere hours in his disassociation, unable to form coherent sentences, unable to tell where he was, unable to make sense of his surroundings. He supposed, when he finally came to, sitting on a chair in an empty room, blankly staring at a pale, plaster wall, that Emily had taken him to some sort of... safe space. Navin had lingered outside the door; upon noticing Ikol was a bit more... “awake”, the boy had filled him in.

Staring into space, Ikol wandered closer to the railing and rested his arms on it.

“.... Aaaand, I’m guessing you weren’t listening.”

The shadow blinked, and slowly turned his gaze in the direction of Navin’s slightly amused complexion. “Come again?” Ikol asked, still slightly dazed.

Navin’s suspicions were confirmed and he laughed uncontrollably. Ikol shrank back, uncertain at what he had done to induce such a response.

“Hey, it’s okay. My mom says I zone out all the time.” Navin laughs, wiping a tear from his eye. “Sorry. I guess I wasn’t expecting to see that from... a Shadow.”

Ikol felt a chill travel up his spine at those words, and briefly... he wondered. He wondered about what kind of impression he had given Alledians about Shadows during his time as the elf king. Was he responsible for creating prejudice against his own kind?

_Tictictictic._

Did he inadvertently make his own situation _worse_?

_Tictictictictictictic._

Garbage! Here he was, thinking only about the impacts on _himself_ —

_TICTICTICTICTICTIC-_

\--When he had inflicted tremendous pain on others.

**_TICTICTICTICTICTICTICTICTICTICTICTICTICTIC—_ **

He gives a large gasp, sucking in air, so much air, he needed more air, _he can’t breathe, he can’t see—_

 

* * *

 

And then, slowly, he uncurled himself. He blinked.

 A bright light flooded the room.

And he was back in the safe space again.

The floor was cold. The tiles were a soft, pearly white, and the cool temperature of the room helped regulate his own body’s temperature –being cold blooded. He liked being on the floor, he found. Ikol was sure that they would have offered to wheel a medical bed in here, but he would probably have insisted on being able to touch the floor- to ground himself, respectively, and to properly feel his surroundings.

Such things usually helped him bring him back.

As he lay on the floor, he wondered, for the first time, what exactly has been triggering him. For the longest time, he had not felt any kind of emotion in the slightest. It had helped him... commit horrendous things, being detached. And now, suddenly? The past few days, his emotions washed over him, going unregulated, getting out of control. What was this? What was going on?

And then—he realized that Emily has been sitting in the chair beside him, eyes closed. But she wasn’t sleeping.

No, she was—from the looks of her glowing amulet—communicating. Likely with other stonekeepers. Vigo, and—Trellis.

Trellis.

He thought about that little boy, curled in the arms of his mother, hiding from the monster that had become the king, the blood on his face, in his eye, the deep wound that had blinded him in one eye-

Numbness—he could feel the numbness, the _tictictic_ , sweeping him away from here—

No. No, he refused to disassociate again. He could not. Ikol fought against every fiber of his being. He kept himself grounded. He felt the floor, the air, he touched his arms, he listened to his breathing. _Stay here,_ his mind said. _Stay right here_.

The sound of his name was ultimately what kept him from going under.

Emily looked down at him, her expression unreadable, as per usual. Ikol felt a groan escape him, which he found to be rather uncharacteristic of himself, but he just couldn’t hold it back. His body was catching up to him now; the ache in his back, the pounding in his head, the twitching of his fingertips. It felt like he was on fire. Was he on fire? Why was his skin burning?

“Hey, Ikol... I’m not going to ask if you’re okay because I don’t think you’d answer honestly. But,” Emily looked away for a moment, “I have asked around, asked all the medics. And there’s a therapist on this ship. She’s meant to be for soldiers suffering from PTSD, but I talked to her... and she said she was willing to help you if you wanted someone to talk to.”

Ikol felt a deep, exasperated sigh draw from his body. He knew that Emily cared, truly he did—but a therapist wasn’t going to help. In fact, it was the last thing he needed. Talking to someone wouldn’t make the memories go away, or the pain, or the numbness—therapists weren’t magic. What he needed was—

Well.

He didn’t know. But he knew what he deserved. And he did not deserve help.

He opened his mouth. “Emily—“

“Please. Please go. Please, just, talk to her. It—It could be for j-just a minute, or ten, I swear, please.” He’d never seen Emily fidget before. She was tripping on her words, fiddling with her fingers, playing with her hair, rubbing her amulet. “Just let her help you, let me help you. Let us help you.” She stammered. These words—they frustrated him, they frustrated him greatly. She didn’t understand. She couldn’t.

But he examined her closely, and he realized she was on the verge of tears. This sent an unexpected jolt through him.

_Why? Why does she care so much?_

But he couldn’t say that. Not when she was shivering, trying to stay composed, trying to stay strong.

_A child... she’s just a child_.

And yet... here he was, wondering why she cared so much. Children were so much more compassionate and forgiving. Even when they have suffered.

He found himself gently cupping her hands in his own, crouching at her level. “Yes, alright,” Ikol murmured, tenderly patting her hand. “I will go. For an hour. But no more than that.” Emily, slightly surprised at physical contact, jumped slightly but didn’t retrieve her hands for any other reason than to wipe her eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispered, deflating with relief.  She looked away, for a moment, and Ikol retrieved his hands, still kneeling in front of her. “I—I know you will not like this, but... Vigo and Trellis, along with some other people, are preparing a shuttle to get here. They are coming to speak with you diplomatically—about how to help your home world. Since you are the only representative we have for Typhon’s side of things.”

Admittedly, Ikol was—not happy. This time, he allowed some kind of numbness to censor out any unpleasant emotions, to prevent lashing out. This was all his fault, after all. He had caused all of this. It was his responsibility to amend it. Even if it meant facing what he has done.

“Alright.”

Emily looked directly at him. “Alright?”

“Yes. Alright.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “Do not suppress your emotions. They will come back and bite you.”

He forced a chuckle. “I’m not. Not to worry,” he explains. “I have a tendency to simply... shut them off.”

She looked exasperated but gave in. “Fine. As long as you go talk to the therapist on the medical staff.”

“Deal, young stonekeeper.”

The next few days were going to be _very_ unpleasant. He could tell.


End file.
